To Be Loved in Return
by WinterGarden
Summary: When the boys find Lisa dying, Cas finds himself with one very important decision to make. Set two years after Cas falls.


**Hello, all! So I've had this idea in my head for a while now, and figured I'd give it a shot and write it. Now, I know that there'll be some holes in the story, and I couldn't develop every detail. I'm definitely not a spn writer, and I definitely don't have the imagination to create a whole big world of my own. So I hope you ignore the fact that some things don't fit, and enjoy the story!**

**Warnings: major character death**

* * *

There are three trials, as Sam and Dean are familiar with by now, to get the angels' grace back. When Dean first heard this, he threw a fit. _Three trials? Why is the magic number always three? Is that some sort of bible thing? I think it is, I think Cas told me about it at some point. I don't know. I didn't really listen. _And really, Sam didn't even blame Dean for bitching about it, because the trials were not very clear-cut. The boys struggled with the first two—involving some sort of sacrifice and the blood of a former angel—because they were confusing and, as Dean said, _bat-shit crazy_. The third was too easy—simply getting the grace back from a demon. One of Crowley's men. Crowley had been in the boys' lives all too frequently lately, and, without Dean, Sam, and Cas knowing it, collecting information about them. The little details he missed over the years. It had been two years of fighting, two years of exhaustion. Two years of Castiel adjusting to human life, balancing grief, guilt, and pop culture.

Dean had been surprisingly sweet. Sam expected his brother to be angry and frustrated—his default, really—but instead, Dean held Castiel's hand every step of the way. Not literally, but Dean was always there. In fact, Dean was there even at three o'clock in the morning. Sam would hear soft reassurances coming from the former angel's room following the angel's screams as he writhed in bed with nightmares. Dean cooked for Sam and Cas, and then showed Cas how to cook. Or at least, he tried to. Cas never got the hang of it, and after setting a pie on fire, Dean shooed him out of the kitchen for good. Sam's favorite was when Dean took Cas shopping for new clothes. They came home not speaking to one another, and Sam laughed, imagining the fights they had with one another in the dressing room as Cas refused to give up his trench coat. The boys got along well in those days. They had each other, and that was good enough. More than good enough. Dean had never been more protective of his baby brother, which Sam secretly loved, and as for Cas—Dean was amused, frustrated, annoyed, and head-over-heels all at once. That's what best friends—or something like that—were, after all. Love and then hate. Friends and then bitter enemies. Cooking spaghetti together and then setting pies on fire.

This particular day, the boys had caught wind of where the angels' grace was, and the demons guarding it. They got in the Impala early in the morning, Dean driving, Sam in the passenger seat, his head swimming with thoughts, and Cas asleep in the back. Cas was a big fan of sleep. He took naps whenever time allowed it. He fell asleep at the kitchen table, the couch, or whatever bed was nearest to him—really anywhere where he could put his head down and catch an hour or two. Sam got annoyed sometimes—Cas once drooled on Sam's laptop, which he was using as a pillow—but Dean just laughed and told Sam that Cas was catching up on thousands and thousands of years without sleep. Sam smiled to himself every time Dean checked on Cas in the rearview mirror. They were close. So, so close. Just last week they had an encounter with Crowley that left them frustrated and desperate and hopeless. Crowley had a way of latching onto the boys' pasts and using it against them, planting thoughts in their heads, distracting them, halting them in any possible way.

This is where the story begins, as well as where it ends.

It was a trap, Dean now realized. It always is. And he never realizes it until it's too late. But now, as Dean stood in the old warehouse—why does everything seem to happen in a warehouse?—looking at Lisa, unconscious and chained to a steel ladder against the wall, he knew it was a trap. He knew that he and Sam and Cas were meant to come here, and that probably meant that there were dozens of demons, possibly something more, waiting for them. Fuck. It was their fault for trying to get the angels' grace back with those stupid trials. The boys should know by now that trials are never a good idea. Stupid trials. Stupid demons. Stupid Cas. Okay, Cas wasn't stupid, Dean was just mad at him for eating the last of the Eggo waffles that morning. It was six o'clock, Dean was tired and hungry, and he yelled at Cas while the former angel sat there with bed head and a mouth full of waffles. Not one of his proudest moments. Jesus, he should probably apologize. So okay, Cas isn't stupid, but everything else was, because here Dean and Sam stood, surrounded by demons in a closed space with no way out and Lisa chained up and unconscious.

_Crowley had a way of latching onto the boy's pasts and using it against them._

Shit. It's always a trap.

"Dean," Sam started, but Dean was already across the room, his fingers on Lisa's neck, looking for a pulse. Sam watched Dean wait for a few seconds, then grab her wrist, then her arms, and then shake her. Dean was saying something under his breath—Sam had no idea what—curse words aimed at Crowley, or whispered reassurances? Whatever it was, it was frantic and quick and slowly died down. And then Dean turned around to face his brother, shaking his head. He could barely get the words out, Sam realized with a sinking heart.

"She's dead."

"Dean—" But Sam never got to finish. The steel doors to the warehouse burst open, and six demons stood at the entrance. The brothers stood where they were as the demons advanced, all with black eyes and cruel, empty grins. Dean glanced at Lisa one last time—he almost refused to believe she was dead. People never seemed to stay dead too long in their lives, right? Maybe it's a curse, or maybe the boys were just being led to believe she was dead, or—

"Dean," Sam interrupted, and Dean realized he was speaking out loud. Dean shook his head, looking back at the advancing demons. Lisa. He never thought he'd be seeing her again. He truly, honestly never thought he'd be in a situation like this. He saved her. He pushed her away from him. Why the fuck was she here now? Who knew about her?

"Where the hell is Cas?" Dean demanded, keeping his eyes trained on the demons—four men, two women—coming toward him.

"He was scoping the outside," Sam said. "I—shit, you don't think that these guys—"

Dean shook his head curtly. No. No demons got to Cas. He was fine. He'd be right there. Dean blinked, clearing some of the dust out of his eyes, and suddenly his head was filled with pictures of Cas, sprawled on the ground just outside, limbs splayed out at awkward angles, blood seeping from his clothes, eyes empty, blank, blue, dead, skin cold and sticky with the color red—_Jesus, he shouldn't have yelled at Cas about the waffles—_

And then one of the women threw themselves at Sam, and Dean opened his eyes as wide as he could, shaking the images, and watched as the rest of the demons followed suit. It turned into stabs, punches, wrestling, shooting, an entire mess of anything that would stop the demons. The boys had fought their fair share of monsters, but it's a rule of thumb that if you're outnumbered, you're outnumbered. That's it. Pretty simple. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam being knocked to the ground as a demon positioned himself over him, grinning widely, the corners of its black eyes crinkling. Dean thrust his knife into the demon in front of him before turning to face Sam, but before he could do anything, Cas was there, throwing the demon off the hunter and dropping to his knees, sinking an angel blade into the man. The demon went limp and Cas stood up and faced Dean.

"This is going to be more difficult than we thought it would be," Cas said seriously.

"Good work, detective," Dean panted, and nodded at Lisa. Cas turned to look at her.

"Is she—"

"Yeah," Dean said gruffly. "Yeah. No pulse."

Cas stayed watching her for a moment, and when he turned to Dean, Dean could see his forehead creased, like he was working through a problem in his head. Something clicked, and his mouth parted. He looked between the brothers.

"Maybe I can—"

A loud crash from outside shook the walls, almost knocking Sam to his feet. Realization dawned on his face and he looked up at Dean, making wild gestures.

"The demons—the ones with the grace—they're outside, I know it, I can feel it."

"Cas, I thought you checked outside?" Dean rounded on the man, and Cas met him with a defiant glare of his own. "How can there be demons outside if you _already checked_?"

"Dean Winchester, if you are still mad at me, I suggest you put aside your petty anger until a later time and focus—"

_Focus._

With everything happening, Dean nearly forgot why they came to this warehouse. Sam. Sam had to get the angels' grace back. A demon held it, one of Crowley's most trusted men. Dean slowly turned around the room, taking in the sight of the six demons, and the sounds of the demons outside. It was here. That's why the warehouse was so heavily guarded. It was here. The only problem was getting past the demons. Lisa wasn't a trap at all—Lisa was a distraction. Crowley knew everything, and he was going to use Lisa to bargain. She wasn't a trap at all.

"Okay—okay, let me think—" Dean's head was spinning. Sam pulled a knife from his belt and slowly rotated, getting a look at the room. The floor shook again, and from below them they heard the cries of demons—three, or maybe four? Waiting. Dean looked at Sam sharply, who held himself at the ready with his knife.

"The grace is with the ones outside. I know it." Sam hadn't been so sure of himself in ages. Dean's first instinct was to go with him, to make sure, to question and badger him until they had an absolute answer—but for whatever reason, he chose to nod.

"Okay. You and Cas take them, I'm gonna go downstairs. Hold them off for a while."

"Dean, I'll go with you—"

"No, Cas, just—just go with Sam. I want to stick close to Lisa."

If Dean had been paying closer attention, he would have seen the angel's panic. He would have heard the desperation laced in his gravelly voice, the anxious look in his wide blue eyes. But Dean had too many things to think about now.

"Dean, I just need to tell you—"

"Jesus, Cas, GO! You and Sam, just GO!"

With that, Sam grabbed Cas by the lapels of his trench coat—underneath, he wore jeans and a T-shirt, but always, always kept that coat—and turned him forcefully, and soon the two men were on their way out again. Dean turned to look at Lisa and gently laid his hand on her cheek. He needed to look at her. God, he needed to look at her. How long had it been? How long had it been since his normal life, since his perfect, gorgeous life with Lisa and Ben? Lisa hadn't changed much. A few more lines around her eyes, a few more pounds around her middle. Her hair was cut shorter, falling just past her chin in wavy curls. She was more beautiful than ever. Dean rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes for a split second—

Another commotion from downstairs, another yell.

Dean pulled away from Lisa and kissed her forehead lightly.

"I'm gonna find a way, baby, don't worry."

And with that, the hunter ran to the grimy underground level of the warehouse.

There were definitely more than three or four demons there, Dean quickly realized. He had just pulled his blade out of the fourth demon in the vessel of a scrawny woman with stringy hair and missing teeth when he heard footsteps behind him. For a brief moment he hoped it was Cas or Sam, but Dean was never that lucky. He felt pressure against his back and arms close around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides, his hand with the knife dangling helplessly at his knee.

"Get off me, you son of a bitch!" Dean grunted, struggling against the weight of the demon, when the weight was lifted and the familiar sound of punches, grunts, and the crack of bones. A rough voice whispered an exorcism, and then the sound of that evil son of a bitch leaving the vessel. It was a great sound to hear right now. When Dean turned around he saw Cas standing there, both eyes bruised, a long cut leading from his eye to his chin. His coat was gone, his arms scratched and bleeding. His jeans were ripped, his knees bloody, and in that blood, rubble and small pieces of stone. Cas looked up at Dean, blinking through the blood, and shook his head.

"Lost my weapons."

"And Sam?"

"He's got a handle on it."

"What—Cas, watch it!" And without looking, Cas threw an elbow out behind him, catching the demon in the throat and knocking it to the ground. He threw himself onto the man, knees on his shoulders, hands on his throat, a quick incantation, and the demon was gone. The vessel—now a man again—lay where he was, breathing shallowly, unconscious but still alive. Cas straightened up, breathing heavily, and watched the man breathe for a moment. Dean couldn't help but smile. Cas had really become quite the hunter. In fact, Dean didn't think he had ever seen someone so talented. He told himself that it was because Cas was an angel—he was all-powerful, he had thousands of years of practice. But really, Cas was a fast learner and a skilled fighter. And for some reason, Dean's chest swelled with pride at that.

"Cas, you never cease to amaze me," Dean said breathlessly, and Cas grinned at him. Dean couldn't help but laugh at that. Cas had been doing a lot more smiling lately, and that made Dean's chest swell too, for an entirely different reason. Cas opened his mouth to speak, but his words were drained in the sounds of more footsteps, followed by cries of demons. Cas clenched his fists, bending his knees at the ready, as Dean held his knife close to him. Definitely more than three or four demons down here.

"I can save her," Cas gasped as soon as he had a moment of silence to talk to Dean, in between stabbings and punches exorcisms. "I can save Lisa."

"Then do it!" Dean shouted as he thrust his blade into another oncoming demon, stopping it right before it sunk its nails into Dean's neck. Cas stood at his side, panting, hands on his knees. Dean pulled the knife out with a grunt and turned to face his friend, opening his mouth to say something, when Castiel's eyes widened as he looked over Dean's shoulder. Dean whipped around only to trip over his own feet—honestly he was surprised he didn't do that more often—and stumbled backwards, bringing his knife up too late as two more demons charged towards him. He landed awkwardly on his wrist and cried out, the blade clattering onto the ground, bones snapping. He looked back up at the demons, a million things flashing through his mind, his imminent death amongst those things. Sam—in the next room over, fighting his own demons. Cas—lost his weapons, has been fighting hand-to-hand for the past ten minutes. Dean—lost his knife, probably broken wrist. Just before Dean could raise his hands to block his face—a pathetic gesture, really, but whatever helps—Cas leapt over his friend, a look of determination on his tired face.

"CAS!" Dean screamed, watching his friend, without arms, with bleeding knuckles, with ripped clothes, throw himself at the demons. But before he could even shut his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch his friend being torn to shreds, a bright light blinded him. Seconds later, the demons lay on the floor and Castiel stood above them, light slowly fading from his fingertips. He turned toward Dean and held out a hand. Dean stared at him blankly.

"What?"

"Come on, Dean, we don't have much time."

Dean remained where he was, slack-jawed, holding his wrist.

"What?"

Cas took Dean's arm and pulled the hunter to his feet. Dean fell forward into Cas, who caught him and stood him up, both hands on his shoulders. Dean watched Cas closely, studying his eyes. They didn't have the same dark bags they had under them just a few minutes ago. His face wasn't as rugged, wasn't as scarred. With his good arm, Dean took Castiel's hand in his and studied it. It had stopped bleeding, scrapes and bruises erased. Dean dropped Castiel's hand and looked once again into the wide blue eyes of his friend.

"What?"

"I'm an angel again, Dean," Cas said with a hint of wonder, like he couldn't even believe it himself. "I'm—when I was fighting, I turned. Sam must have done it. Sam must have gotten the angels' grace back." Cas paused for a moment, and then his chapped lips turned up into a small smile. This time it was his turn to take the hunter's hand in his own, and it hurt only for a second before Dean's bones were back in place. Dean rubbed his wrist, breathing heavily. He studied Castiel's eyes, and swore they were brighter in that moment than they had been the past two years. They were the same blue that they were the first day they met—the first day Dean found out that angels did exist. The day he found out that there was going to be a big, big change in his life. And here that angel was, standing in front of him, holding his hand, smiling.

"Cas," Dean breathed, but at that moment there was a loud crash from behind them, and Sam came barreling into the room, four demons after him.

"As soon as you're done holding hands and skipping into the sunset, I could use a little help here," Sam called, firing bullets into the line of demons following him. Dean immediately broke away from Cas, but before he could even reach his brother, the demons were down, Cas standing in the middle of them. For the second time that night, Dean stopped in his tracks, and watched Cas—well, he watched Cas kick ass and take names. Two more demons barged into the room, and, with his signature upper-cut and jab to the throat, Cas had the demons pinned to the ground with another bright light coming out of his hands. Sam glanced at Dean—smiling? Was he smiling? No, that was a cocky grin, a grin that said _I did that. I got the grace back_. Dean couldn't help but snort at his little brother.

"I see he's all better," Sam said, motioning at Cas, who was now standing in the center of seven demons splayed out on the ground. Cas looked at the brothers, breathing heavily, and tried to contain another smile.

"All right, assholes, don't get too cocky," Dean said with a slight smile. He met the angel's eyes for a moment and Cas looked away quickly, smiling at his feet. Dean stepped over the bodies and grabbed his knife, stepping next to his brother in front of Cas. He wiped off some of the blood with his sleeve when he remembered with a start—

"Lisa—Cas, you said you could save her?" Cas nodded seriously. Dean broke into a wide grin, but Cas stood there, looking—not angry, not just serious. He looked—sad. But before Dean could even question it (he was too anxious to question it, anyways), the three were standing in the grimy, blood-stained room where Lisa was chained to the ladder, head rolling forward onto her chest. Dean stepped across the room to Lisa and held her hands in his, tipping her chin up so he could look at her face. He studied her quietly and quickly while Cas and Sam watched anxiously.

"She doesn't look hurt," Dean said gruffly, running his hands up and down her arms. He smiled again, breathing a sigh of relief. He turned toward Cas. "How can you save her?" Cas walked forward slowly and looked at Lisa in the same way Dean did—her face, her body, her neck—checked every part of her to make sure she hadn't been stabbed or shot or any other possible injury that could cause death when she came to. Dean watched Cas take his time looking at her. He didn't notice that the angel's hands were shaking, or how slowly he was inspecting her. When Cas turned to face Dean, his eyes were watery. Of course, Dean didn't notice that either. When Dean had a lot on his mind—Lisa, saving Lisa, making sure Sammy was okay, Cas, Cas getting his mojo back, demons, demons, demons—the details tended to slip by. Cas looked at Sam for a moment and then turned back to Dean.

"I can give her my grace. Not just my grace, but my…life, for a lack of a better word. Angels are born with the power to bring one human back to life. It's hard to understand, but I can…make a certain sort of sacrifice, and she will live."

"Great," Dean responded immediately. He was too nervous to notice Cas's face crumple slightly, just slightly. "Great. Okay. Give her your mojo, then I guess she can—what, she can choose to fall? And then she'll be human, and everything will be back to normal? I don't know. But do it, before it's too late. I don't really know how this curse works, so, you know. Get to it."

"Dean…" Sam's voice was soft from where he stood. Dean glanced at his brother, whose eyes were sympathetic and—shit, was he crying? No. He wasn't. He looked back at Cas, who stared at Dean with the most profound sadness Dean had seen from any angel—hell, any human.

"She won't need to fall, Dean," Cas said, and this time Dean noticed that his voice shook. "I'm going to give her my life, and she will wake up from the curse, and I'll—I'll die. It's actually very simple, for once," Cas said, and forced a smile. Dean could have sworn he looked at the angel and that shaking smile a full minute before he responded.

"Wait—so you're—you're gonna die if you save Lisa."

"Yes."

"And if you don't, she dies. Or—or stays dead, or whatever."

"Yes."

Dean looked from Cas to Sam incredulously, shaking his head.

"No. Nuh-uh. There's another way, right? Do the grace thing that I said. Give her your grace, and then she'll—I don't know—that could work, right?"

"It has to be this way, Dean," Sam said in that same soft voice. Dean's stomach turned. Sam used that voice when he talked to families of someone who died. He used that voice when he consoled someone who lost someone that they loved. Hell, Sam used that same voice on Dean when Dean thought he had lost Cas in the lake years ago. Sam was talking to Dean like Cas was going to die—which was so not going to happen.

"No—Cas, no—there has to be another way." His voice had risen an octave, but he didn't care. Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Dean cut him off. "And what do you know about all this, huh? Why are you just—giving up?" Dean demanded angrily, and Sam was cut off again.

"I talked to Sam about this already," Cas admitted. "You were fighting down in the basement, and Sam and I were up here. It occurred to me, so I told Sam, and…it's the only way, Dean. But I can save her," Cas repeated, as if Dean wasn't getting it. "I can bring Lisa back to you."

"You don't get to decide this—"

"Yes, I do," Cas said, trembling more and more with each word. "You were the one who told me I could make my own decisions, after all. And I've already decided."

"Sam—Jesus, Sam, back me up on this or something," Dean turned toward his brother again, anger in his voice but fear in his eyes. Sam shook his head as a tear escaped and ran down his cheek, and Dean knew that it was over.

"We've already said our goodbyes, Dean." Sam turned and looked at Castiel, who nodded at him. Dean watched them as if they were in slow motion. And muted. And blurry, like a fuzzy picture from an old movie. Nothing was real. It couldn't be. "It's done, Dean. It's his choice. He made it." Dean opened his mouth in disbelief, voice caught in his throat.

"You—you're just gonna let him go?" Dean asked. "You're just gonna let him die?"

"Dean…" Sam said softly. Sympathetically. Like he knew something Dean didn't. "I'll—I'll meet you outside, okay? I'll let you guys…" Sam's voice broke as he met Dean's eyes and he turned, bringing a hand up to cover his face as he walked out of the warehouse. Dean was breathing hard now, and as he watched his brother turn the corner, he turned on Cas quickly, at a loss for words. He stared at his angel for a while before he opened his mouth.

"You—you won't stay dead for long—?" Dean was desperate now.

"I'll stay dead forever." Nope, Cas was never one for comfort. Dean shook his head.

"Why are you doing this?" He heard his voice break, and a lump formed in his throat. It was getting hard to talk. "I mean, you do a lot of things for me, but…why this?" Castiel's eyes filled with tears and he turned away quickly, clearing his throat.

"You love her."

"Yeah, but I—"

"And she loves you."

"Yeah—yeah, but—"

"And I can't imagine what it would be like to love you and be loved by you in return," Cas turned to Dean, a single tear escaping and running down his cheek, all the way to his chapped lips. And those words hit Dean like a train. Dean started at this—he suddenly became aware of everything he was doing. How his hands hung limply at his sides, how loud his shallow breaths were in the empty room. Cas stared straight into Dean's eyes, just as he had been doing for the past six years. He was never afraid to look him in the eye. Sometimes it was a challenge. Sometimes it was the result of not knowing social cues. Sometimes it was…it was something Dean could never quite put his finger on. Until now.

"Why would I ever take that away from someone?" Cas asked, another tear leaking from his eye. "To be loved by you must be…must _feel_…truly amazing," Cas huffed out a smile, his eyes glassy. "She will get to be by your side day and night. She will get to wake up next to you. Why—why would I rob anyone of that happiness?" Dean shook his head, tears blurring his vision. He had never seen Cas like this before. So vulnerable, so…human. Even when he was human, he still walked around with that stoic air, like he knew something everyone else didn't. He walked with that hard determination, with that stone face that no one could read. He never cried much. A few times when he first fell, but not for nearly two years. And now here he stood, tears pouring down his face, once again flawless, not scratched, not bruised, not anything, saying the most vulnerable things any human—any creature—could ever say. And then the angel opened his mouth and said the words Dean knew, deep down, all along:

"I'm in love with you, Dean Winchester."

Dean shook his head and took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice, before speaking. Shit. All these years. All these years of Cas saving his ass. Cas showing up when Dean needed him most. Cas showing up when Dean really didn't need him at all (when he was sleeping, when he was washing his face in the bathroom mirror, that one time he was in the shower). The angel was in love with him. _Him_. Dean Winchester, who was so totally broken and so far from perfect. This angel—this powerful, strong, perfect being—loved him. This _man_—this quirky, funny, perfect man—loved him. Loved him so much that he was about to die because of it. Dean wanted to tell him to just _stop. _Just _stop _loving him, just _stop _looking at him like that, because Dean wasn't ready for it. He wasn't ready to ask himself who Cas was to him. He wasn't ready to ask himself what Cas really meant to him. He wasn't ready for Cas to love him. And yet, he really should have been. He really should have known. He should have asked himself these questions sooner, he should have said something. They could have figured it out together—they could have had years—Dean opened and closed his mouth before he finally spoke the only true, honest thing he could think of.

"But I do love you, Cas," Dean's voice broke, and at this, Castiel's face crumpled. He nodded, looking down at his shoes, keeping his mouth shut and tears silent as Dean watched helplessly. God, he felt horrible. Cas was in love with him. All Cas wanted to hear were those words, and he did, he did hear them, but not the way he wanted to. Not whispered to him in the middle of the night, not said through tears of laughter. Not said after a hunt, when Dean and Castiel's eyes met and they both breathed a sigh of relief when they saw the other was still alive. Cas never got to hear it they way he should have. And he deserved to. He deserved that more than anyone deserved anything. The room was dead silent except for Dean's shallow breathing and Castiel's occasional sniffs and short intakes of breath as he tried to compose himself. When Cas finally looked up at Dean, his eyes were red.

"Thank you, Dean. And that's—that's okay, Dean," Cas smiled through his tears. "I want her to have what I can't. To be loved by Dean Winchester…she must be the happiest being in the world. How could I ever take that away from somebody?"

Dean brought his hands up to his face, letting out a single sob.

"What am I gonna do?" Dean asked, wiping a hand across his cheek before Cas could see his tears. "What am I gonna do?"

"You're going to close the gates of Hell. You're so close, Dean. You're almost there. You can finish it, even without my help. Maybe especially without my help. You'll stop hunting. You'll go back to Lisa and Ben—their memories will be restored—and Sam will move in somewhere close to you, so you will never have to be too far apart. You'll be fine. I'll make sure of it. I _am_ an angel of the Lord, you know." Cas smiled that small, toothy, awkward smile. "I'll watch over you."

Dean squeezed his mouth tightly shut and ran a hand through his hair, gripping the top of his head and containing a sob.

"You have given me so much, Dean Winchester. With you, I have felt things that I never even knew were possible. With you, I feel powerful and weak at the same time. With you, I feel confused and assured. With you, I feel…I feel human, Dean." Cas smiled sadly. "It's horrible. But in a strangely…perfect way."

"You're gonna die now," Dean said, his voice breaking on every word, blubbering like a baby, and his hands covered his eyes again. Jesus Christ, Cas was going to die. For real, this time. He wouldn't be coming back a year later. He wouldn't pop up in the passenger seat of the Impala or in the bathroom mirror behind Dean. He would die. Gone. From this world forever. Dean would never, ever, ever hear his voice again.

He shouldn't have yelled at him about the waffles that morning.

Castiel nodded slowly, like he was accepting that fact himself.

"Are you all right?" Cas asked seriously. Dean had to smile. Cas was about to—well, Dean wasn't quite sure—blow up, or something, and the angel was asking if Dean was all right. He always put Dean before himself. Always. He must have seen Dean's smile and taken it as an answer, because after a few seconds, a faint glow emitted from every inch of his body.

"I love you," Dean burst, his entire body shaking. Cas opened his eyes, and there, Dean found fear. Desperation. Confusion. Despite his quiet, calm, collected voice, Castiel's eyes were screaming. He was scared. Just like any human would be. And Dean realized he could still give Cas one thing that he wanted. To be comforted—truly _comforted_—in a time he most needed it. Dean stepped toward Cas and cupped the angel's face, bringing Castiel's lips to his own. The angel's chapped lips fit perfectly against Dean's. It was chaste and soft and conveyed everything that Dean couldn't put into words. After a moment, he felt Cas kiss back, just a little bit more forceful—nothing harsh, nothing strained or violent. In that push, Dean felt everything that Cas wanted to say all these years. They broke apart for only a moment before Dean latched on again, crushing his lips back against Castiel's, not wanting it to end, trying not to cry. He felt an invisible force propel him away ever so slightly, and the hunter and the angel broke apart. Dean looked at Cas once more and nodded, taking his hands away from the angel's face.

"Keep an eye on those other angels, okay? Make sure they don't get into any more trouble," Dean said, keeping his eyes trained on Cas, trying to ignore the light getting brighter and brighter. Nothing was going to stop him from looking at the angel. Not now. Not in a million years "Make sure they all get back okay, I guess. I was never really sure of how the whole angel thing worked."

**"Who are you?**

** "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."**

** "Yeah…thanks for that."**

** "We need to talk, Dean. Alone."**

** "Who are you?"**

** "Castiel."**

** "Yeah, I figured that much. I mean what are you?"**

** "I'm an angel of the Lord."**

"**Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing."**

"**This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith."**

"**Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes."**

"**I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be overwhelming to humans. So can my real voice, but you already knew that."**

"**You mean the gas station and the motel? That was you talking? Buddy, next time you need to lower the volume."**

"**That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them I was wrong."**

"**And what visage are you now? Holy tax accountant?"**

"**This? This is a vessel." **

"**You're possessing some poor bastard?"**

"**He's a devout man…he actually prayed for this."**

"**Well, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?"**

"**I told you."**

"**Right…and why would an angel rescue me from hell?"**

"**Good things do happen, Dean."**

"**Not in my experience."**

"**What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved?"**

"**Why'd you do it?"**

"**Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you."**

Cas smiled at Dean, and by God, if that didn't tear Dean to shreds right there. How far they had come. How much they'd changed. From appearing in that old dirty warehouse to disappearing in this one. From showing up in the kitchen, the family room, the bathroom mirror, to staying in the bunker with Sam and Dean for two years. From a condescending look and a superiority complex to making awkward jokes and trying to clean the house. From "Hello, Dean" to—

"Goodbye, Dean."

And the light expanded, filling the room, filling the warehouse, blinding Dean so he finally had to shut his eyes, knowing full well that when he opened him, there wouldn't be an angel standing there. Knowing that when he opened his eyes, he would never, ever see those blue eyes again, squinting in confusion at him, widening in surprise, narrowed with worry. Knowing that he would not see Castiel, angel of the Lord, again for a very, very long time.

And then the light, the high-pitched tone, everything—stopped. Just like that. But Dean, he didn't want it to stop. He wanted to open his eyes and see Cas standing there, young and strange and new—he wanted it to go back to the beginning. To experience Castiel from that very first moment, to say the things he never got to, to treat Cas just like he deserved to be treated. Hell, Dean just wanted to experience it again, even if he didn't get to say those things—he just wanted six more years with Cas, because really, every minute counted, even when they were not quite friends or fighting or angry or frustrated—because every minute counted, and Dean never realized that before. God damn it, he just wanted six more years, to do it all again. He wanted to open his eyes and see Cas standing there, ready to start again, ready to be with Dean—but Dean didn't see that when he opened his eyes.

Instead, Dean saw Lisa, beautiful Lisa, looking at Dean like she remembered everything—which she did—and beside Lisa, right at her feet, a beige trench coat. One look at Lisa's big, sympathetic eyes, and Dean crumbled to the ground, wailing like a newborn baby, shaking like a small dog left in the cold for too long. It wasn't long before Lisa knelt next to him and wrapped her arms around him. She didn't understand, but she would at some point. Not that day. Not the next day. She didn't know it then, but Dean wouldn't tell her the facts—he wouldn't tell her about the Cas he grew to love—for another four months. Every time he tried, his voice caught and he couldn't speak. Lisa didn't know that, but for now, she just held Dean, who shook and howled and sobbed in her arms. He covered his face with his hands, his entire body heaving with sobs and shakes. After twenty minutes, Sam came back into the warehouse, realizing that Dean wasn't going to come out any time soon, and silently sat next to Dean and Lisa. The three of them sat like that for two full hours before they were able to get Dean on his feet again and lead him away. Sam carried the trench coat and put it in the trunk.

Dean was quiet on the ride to Lisa's house. He rested his head against the passenger seat window and watched the countryside pass. Lisa and Sam didn't try to talk to him. Sam let Lisa drive. He couldn't. His hands were still shaking. Lisa offered to take Dean back to her house, but Dean wanted to stay with Sam for the night, so Lisa dropped them off at a motel by her house. She offered to get them to a hotel, but Dean insisted on the crummy motel just a few blocks away. Sam went in first to get a room, and Lisa kissed Dean.

The kiss erased Cas.

Dean cried the whole night, Sam quietly comforting him. There wasn't much to say. Cas was gone, and Sam couldn't say anything to fix that. To fix Dean. So he sat up with Dean, a hand on his brother's back, sometimes saying the words _It's okay _or _We'll be fine._

Things got better, of course. They always do, with time. The next day, the boys headed to Lisa's house, where she and Ben were waiting. They had made breakfast, and the four of them sat together, just a preview of what the rest of their lives would be like. Ben had grown up to be quite the gentleman. He knew to stay pretty quiet, but when he did speak, the kid was pretty funny. He made Sam laugh. That day, Sam and Dean stayed at the house. Sam did some yard work and Dean fixed the sink. The two boys fell asleep on couches during the afternoon, as they didn't get much sleep the past night. They woke up for dinner, and once again, four people sat together and talked.

That was their motivation. Their motivation to close the gates of Hell once and for all, to end it, the demons and the exorcisms and the devil's traps. They killed every demon with certain memories in mind. For Sam, he remembered the way Dean looked with Lisa and Ben. A family. He wanted his brother to have that more than anything in the world. Dean remembered a few things. Sammy when he was a kid, Sammy when he was happy, and, of course, a pair of deep blue eyes. Their memories of the past and vision of the future pulled them through until it was over. All over. When they went back to Lisa's house, they sat down at the kitchen table.

This was it now. The only thing that would change was the number of people at that table. That morning, it started with four, and then when Sam got married, rose to five. Dean and Lisa had a baby of their own after a couple years, and they planned on six—and then they had twins, and it turned into seven. Twelve years later, the number of chairs around the table totaled ten. With every addition to the table, Dean's—and Sam's—smiles widened a little more. They had lost so much, but they gained more every day.

Thirteen years from that day—that day that Dean said _goodbye_, said _I love you_—Dean stood in his and Lisa's bedroom, pulling on a plaid dress-shirt for the dinner party. Lisa had invited their friends, Sam's family, Sam's friends, and Ben's friends from school. Dean bitched and moaned about all the socializing he'd have to do, but he didn't really mind. He buttoned the final button on his shirt and listened for a moment to the noise from downstairs. Plates being set down. Oven timer beeping. Phone ringing. Dean quietly shut the door to the bedroom so that the noise was just a faint buzz and walked to the window, where he put his hands on the windowsill and gazed out at the snow falling gently to the ground, illuminated by the street light. He slowly raised his gaze to the sky—starry and cloudy and snowy.

Nights like this he needed Cas more than anything. It's not that they were bad nights—far opposite, actually. But on these nights, he just really wished Cas could be there with him.

"Cas, you got your ears on? I'll need your help getting through this dinner party tonight, buddy. The Ellis family is coming, and my God, if I have to talk about their son getting into Harvard one more time…" Dean snorted. "Thank God Sam is coming. He's been working on some case for the past two weeks, hasn't had any time to watch bad movies or anything. I told him being a lawyer is too much work. Pain in the ass never listens." Dean looked down at his hands and scratched at the wood for a while before looking back up. "I miss you every day, buddy. I know I always say no chick-flick moments, but…" Dean cleared his throat. "I think about you all the time. I wish you could be here. I can just imagine you at these kinds of social situations, and I seriously think you would just smite the crap out of the Ellises," Dean grinned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt the familiar prickling at his eyes. "I just—I wanted to thank you. And tell you I miss you. And I can't wait until I get to see you again. And, uh…I never know how to end these things…been doing the whole 'praying' thing for about thirteen years now and I'm still no good at endings…" Dean scratched his head and rested his head against the side of the window. "I'll see you, buddy. I miss you. Every day. Um…bye."

With that, Dean backed up from the window and walked over to the open closet. He pushed to the back of the closet, shuffling through the clothes, until he got to it. He stood for a moment, willing himself not to cry, and fisted his hands in the lapels of the old, worn trench coat. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He just clutched the coat and brought his forehead to the collar, his throat tight and tears in his eyes. Thirteen years, and nothing changed when he held that coat. Same pain. Same tears. Same…comfort. Dean stayed like this for a while, listening to the sounds of his family downstairs, breathing in his old life and listening into his new life. Well, not really new life. Same song, different verse, right?

"DEAN!" A voice from downstairs roared, and Dean grinned against the coat.

"My God, Sam, do you really have to be that loud? Baby sleeping right upstairs, you know," Dean heard Lisa respond. Dean snorted and, with one last sigh, dropped the coat. He walked out of the walk-in closet and closed the door quietly before throwing open the door to his bedroom.

"There's my baby brother," Dean called as he came down the stairs. He swung Sam's four-year-old into his arms, grinning at the boy's shaggy brown hair.

"How's my Bobby doing today?" Dean asked and the shy boy hugged him in return. Dean grinned at Sam and clapped him on the back.

"How you doing, man?" Dean asked as they made their way to the kitchen. Behind them, the doorbell rung again, and Bobby sprung out of Dean's arms to hide from the newcomers behind his mother's skirt. Dean threw Sam a beer from the bridge and the men made their way through the back porch where Dean's old Impala sat in the backyard. It hadn't been driven in thirteen years. Sam and Dean hopped on the hood of the car.

"How'd the trial go?" Dean asked, bringing the beer to his lips.

"We won," Sam grinned. "Easy."

"Yeah, it was easy because you shut yourself away from society with your laptop for about ten years."

"Or it was easy because I have insane skills as a lawyer."

"Nah, I don't think that's it," Dean grinned, and Sam laughed. "Remember that one time Cas drooled on your laptop?"

"I thought it was going to have so much water damage it wouldn't work anymore," Sam said, light twinkling in his eyes. Some of the worry creases had gone away from his face, and his eyes didn't have those dark circles under them anymore. "I've never seen a human produce that much drool."

"I've never seen any sort of creature produce that much drool," Dean grinned, taking another drink. The boys sat in silence for a minute, snow gently falling around them. Dean could see his breath in the cold December air.

"It's been thirteen years to the day, huh?" Sam asked softly. He and Dean didn't talk about it much. They didn't avoid it, but they also didn't bring it up often. It hurt both of them to think about, and it hurt Sam even more to see Dean think about that day in the warehouse.

"Yep," Dean said, lowering his eyes and playing with the neck of the bottle. "Thirteen years ago today."

Another few moments of silence before Sam spoke.

"Could you imagine him with the Ellises?" Sam asked, and Dean smiled softly.

"Right? I was just saying that," Dean smiled, and Sam knew he wasn't talking about that with Lisa or Ben. "We could really use his smiting abilities with them."

And just like that, Sam and Dean fell back into their routine of talking and drinking and laughing. Cas always in their minds, always in Dean's heart. Together they sat on the hood of the Impala, watching guests come into the house and gather in the kitchen. Lisa stood in the middle of it all, setting up the appetizers on the kitchen table, pushing back her wavy black hair and bouncing a six-month-old baby on her hip. Lisa. A new life. A new sort of happiness that didn't have to involve exorcising demons or killing vampires or losing friends.

All because of Cas.

And the boys didn't know it, but from Castiel's perch in Heaven, he was smiling.

* * *

**As always, reviews are appreciated! Thanks for reading!**


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